Redrum's Odyssey
by sideshow mel
Summary: Pre-SIII coming-of-age story where Percival and Borus are squires. Borus has to go through a milestone event for an upper-class kid. chapter 6 up
1. Chapter 1

_Note: This is basically a coming-of-age/friendship story about my two favorite Zexen Knights as teenagers. It is going to focus a lot on class differences and aristocratic customs. There won't be any kind of romance, and Chris will be only mentioned briefly. There really wasn't a lot given in the game about Borus's background, so I made up a lot of stuff here, most of it being how I think it might have been in medieval Europe. I called this "The Odyssey" b/c it's supposed to be a journey of some sort and b/c I can't think up a good title. It might be a little boring, since there's not gonna be any swordfights or explosions or whatever, just mostly blabber. Anyway, feedback would be nice, even if you think it sucks._

"Seriously, man. A _girl_?" Percival cocked his head and furrowed his brows in an exaggerated expression of disbelief. The seventeen-year-old squire stole a glance at the blond boy sitting across the wooden mess hall table from him. He wanted to see his friend's reaction to the news that they'd heard last night but didn't have the chance to discuss until this morning.

Borus said nothing and maintained a vacant face, as if he didn't hear Percival. With great concentration, he poked around his gray breakfast porridge with his wooden spoon. He seemed to have an unnatural interest in the unappetizing food. All around them were the sounds of several dozen other young squires eating and conversing. Everyone was taking it easy today, since there was no training on the Holy Sabbath. It was mid-morning and the boys have just returned from Mass, which, in the Church of St. Loa, always started before daybreak on Sundays.

"Redrum!" Percival snapped at the sixteen-year-old when he failed to respond. Borus looked up from the bowl with a 'huh?' expression on his face. Percival eyed him curiously. He _was_ acting a little odd this morning, both at Mass and now. "The hell's the matter with you?"

"Ah, you mean that Lightfellow girl?"

"_No_, Redrum. I meant all those _other_ girls we have training to be knights." Percival rolled his eyes.

Borus shrugged, ignoring the sarcasm. "Well, I remember my uncle used to tell me old war stories of when he was knight. He'd mention a lot about how Wyatt Lightfellow used to be some great Zexen warrior and such. You know, before he disappeared all of a sudden. Maybe it's the bloodline."

Percival shook his head. "Don't be silly." He paused while he gulped down a spoonful from his own porridge bowl. "_Everything's_ lineages and bloodlines with you nobility, isn't it?" He smirked at Borus. "Just the result of all that inbreeding, huh?"

Borus shot him an icy glare from across the table. "Kidding, only kidding," he said chuckling. He knew that Borus tended to get touchy whenever his aristocratic background was mentioned, almost as if it were something to be ashamed of. But that just made it even more fun to tease his fellow squire about it every chance he had.

Looking back down at his bowl, Borus began to stir the lumpy porridge again without ever taking a bite. "I know she just officially became a squire yesterday, but they said she's been training really hard under Lord Emile as a page for years. She has to be _pretty _decent at least if they're gonna seriously consider her for the Knighthood."

"So you think we should give her the benefit of the doubt?"

"Why not?"

"Well, according to some of the other guys, it's tainting the respectability of the Zexen Knights and making the criteria for joining a bad joke."

"Yeah? Didn't they say the same thing when Captain Galahad let you become a squire?" Borus's words were quite true. Percival, after all, had been a mere peasant boy from the countryside, and the Knighthood was supposed to be an organization for sons of the nobility. But he had been able to demonstrate his superior talent and earn the respect of the upper-class boys. Along with Borus, he was considered by his instructors to be _the_ exemplary squire (at least as far as swordsmanship was concerned; Borus tended to take the whole chivalry business a lot more seriously).

"Hmm...guess you're right, Redrum. Can't argue with reason," Percival said. "Though that doesn't come too often from you, does it?" he added with a grin.

Borus ignored him. "But she _is_ quite pretty, isn't she?" He smiled a little to himself.

"Eh? You think so? I've seen better."

"She's only fourteen. Give her a few years."

"I suppose. What I _do_ want to see is how good her riding and swordsmanship really is," Percival said as he emptied his bowl and stood up, ready to leave the mess hall. "Ready to go? You don't seem to plan eat that mess."

"Go where?"

Percival shrugged. "I dunno. Hang around town. Chill. Same thing we always do on Sabbath. Can't have any real _fun_ 'til evening anyway."

"Whatever." Borus stood up. Leaving the bowls and wares for the maids to clean up, they exited the hall. "You know, I didn't have much of an appetite this morning, but I'm still hungry for some reason," Borus commented as they passed through the cramped, gloomy squires' barracks to get outside onto the sunny streets of Vinay del Zexay, the lively capital of the Zexen Federation.

"Who _would _have an appetite for that pigswill they serve? If you want, we can always hit the street vendors later and buy something that's actually edible." Percival glanced over at Borus and saw that he had dug his hands deep into the pockets of his expensive trousers and was staring down at the cold stone floor as he walked. "You okay, man?"

"Huh? Sure."

"If you ask me, you were acting a bit strange this morning." The two squires pushed past the tall wooden doors that led to the outside world and passed by the old guard that stood vigilantly by them. The barracks had stood to the side of the training center at the every end of Seaport Avenue. The cool autumn breeze greeted them as they stepped out of the stone building.

They walked along the busy street filled with pedestrians and horse-drawn carts down towards the docks. Borus always found it fun to simply watch the great merchant ships unload their cargos from overseas, though Percival generally insisted on sneaking onboard one of them and wrecking whatever havoc he could think of from there. "What was that?" Borus asked as they walked.

"I said you were kinda quiet this morning."

"Oh."

"You didn't get rebuffed by some girl, did you?"

"Heh, that's more your style."

Percival laughed and ran his fingers through his sleek dark hair in a shamelessly egotistical gesture. "Like _that_ could ever happen to me."

"Cocky bastard."

They eventually reached the intersection between Seaport Avenue and Ocean Street, the paved roadway that ran alongside the sea. The waves splashing against the seawall and the cries of gulls mixed with the typical sounds of the hectic city. Along the walkway, several smaller roads branched off the main street, leading to the docks. Borus took the first one he came across, turning left and walking down the length of an empty dock without a word. Percival trailed behind, curious at his odd behavior.

Borus reached the end of the wooden pier and stopped, looking out to sea as the ocean breeze whipped his soft blond hair about his face. Percival hopped up to sit upon a chest-high wooden post a few feet away. He looked at his friend's pensive expression and frowned. "Okay, Redrum. I know _something _must be up with you. Spit it out."

There was a long pause. Percival was about to repeat himself when Borus finally spoke in an oddly detached voice without turning his head. "My...father died last night."

His statement was followed by yet another long awkward pause. "Uh..." Percival began uncomfortably, completely taken aback and unsure of what to say.

"Well, technically he died this morning. Around two. Heart attack. Lord Sihelm informed me just before Mass." Borus spoke quietly and didn't once look at Percival as he talked. It was almost as if he were speaking to himself.

"Oh..." Percival suddenly felt absolutely awful about his remarks at breakfast of Borus's family. "Sorry, man. I didn't know. I'm really sorry..." He got down from the post and stood beside Borus, staring out into the vast ocean alongside his friend.

Borus waited a bit before speaking. A sharp bitterness pierced his voice. "Don't be. I always hated that old bastard anyway." He looked over at Percival's shocked face for the first time.

"What?!"

He shook his head. "Look, I really don't wanna get into this right now."

"Sure." Percival quickly shut up, perplexed as he was.

Borus turned and started to walk back towards Ocean Street. He stopped suddenly. "Tomorrow I'm gonna be heading back to the manor for a few days. You know, to attend the funeral and help take care of inheritance business with my brothers and all that."

"Oh yeah. Of course."

He began again, his voice lowered a bit. "I'd like you to come with me, if you don't mind."

"Err...are you sure? I mean, I don't wanna meddle in your family affairs or anything."

"No..." Borus trailed off. "I...I just think I..." He sighed. "Look, you don't have to. I'm just asking as a favor, that's all. If you'd rather be training—" He turned around and looked at Percival. His golden brown eyes, filled with a childlike helplessness, seemed lost and uncertain. Percival had never seen him like this before, and it made him extremely uncomfortable.

"No, no, of course I'll go. If Sihelm'll let me, that is."

"He said it'll be all right if someone comes with me."

"Good. Then it's settled."

Borus looked down at the wooden planks below his feet. "Thank you, Percival. I really appreciate this."

"Sure thing."

He turned back around. "I'm going back to the barracks. There's some things I need to think over. You can go do your own thing."

Percival certainly didn't want to stay with Borus. As much as he wished to give his friend his full support, it would have been far too awkward for both of them. "Hmm...I think I'm gonna go for a nice long ride in Zexen forest." He caught up beside Borus to walk with him back to training center so he could borrow a horse.

"Just don't push the poor creature too hard. I heard your horse collapsed the last time you had a race with Mycella." Borus managed a half-hearted smile.

"I still won, didn't I?" Percival beamed proudly, trying to take their minds off the situation, at least for now. "Say, you think that kid's up for a rematch today? I didn't see him at breakfast."

"No. Him, Chukov, and Harrison were headed for Flandersville right after Mass."

"_That_ boring little village? What on earth _for_?"

Borus shrugged. "For the country whores, if I had to guess."

"Ah yes, the good old country whores... Awww...now I wanna go too."

"Don't tell me that the notorious ladies' man Percival Fraulein needs whores in order to get some." Borus's familiar boldness edged its way back into his voice.

Percival quietly sighed in relief, glad that the solemnity had worn off for the time being. He slammed Borus on the arm with a fist, smirking. "You must be talking about yourself, Redrum. I don't _need_ whores, but sometimes their callousness is preferred to all those fanatical town girls so eager to make me lunchboxes and raving about how strong and handsome I am." He sounded a bit _too_ pleased with himself.

"Merciful Goddess," Borus muttered, shaking his head. "You're such a pompous ass."

Ignoring his remark, Percival said musingly, "Know who I _should_ ask to ride with me? That new girl, Chris Lightfellow."

Borus suddenly glowered at him. "You don't even bloody _know_ her."

As Percival caught his glare, a wide grin crept onto his face. "_Jealous_, are we now, Lord Redrum?"

"Yeah, you just go on thinking that," Borus turned to look straight ahead, pretending to act uninterested.

"You should be. You _know_ she'd fall for me long before you."

"Maybe. If she were into arrogant, self-important jerks."

"Better than an uptight prick with no sense of humor." Both boys snickered to confirm the lack of seriousness in their insults. They had reached the squires' barracks and the training center by now and were about to go their own ways. "So I'm guessing you're not up to barhopping tonight, huh?" Percival asked.

"No, but don't let me stop you. Just don't stay up _too_ late. We're gonna be leaving early tomorrow. And you'd better not have a hangover by then."

"I'll do my best, my friend. Later." Percival started towards the stables. Actually, he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to go out tonight at all. He could've easily found other squires to go with, but things tended to be a lot more fun with Borus. Ever since they first met and became friends two years ago, he was always thinking up new ways to get them into potential trouble. He found it endlessly amusing to watch Borus attempt to uphold his squeaky clean image while going along with his devious proposals.

Brooding thoughts overcame Percival once again as Borus left to head inside the barracks. In all honesty, he didn't want to go with Borus. As a knight-in-training, he was used to being the lone commoner among noble boys, but these were just kids. Meeting a rich aristocratic family was different, even if it _was_ his best friend's. He knew from experience that the nobility often looked upon commoners as little more than animals. He was apprehensive about how the Redrum family would receive him.

But then again, he couldn't just desert Borus right now. He had never seen his friend quite so troubled as he had looked at the docks. Percival didn't quite understand why. After all, didn't Borus say he hated his father? He was definitely upset about _something_, but it quite didn't seem to be his father's death, exactly. It must be some upper-class problem he couldn't comprehend. Percival recalled that whenever Borus was going back to visit his family in the past for the holidays or whatever, he never looked too happy about it. In any case, Borus certainly did seem like he needed some backing at a time like this.

Percival stepped into the dark, smelly stables and picked out his favorite horse, a tall, lean chestnut gelding. Riding had been his favorite pastime ever since he was a kid growing up in Iksay Village, and if there was one thing he knew how to do well besides fight, it's how to distinguish good horse. All the horses available for the squires' training were rejected candidates for knights' chargers. Percival could almost always tell why they were rejected, but not with this chestnut. In addition to having a good disposition, it was sturdy, strong, and very, very fast. He hoped that he could convince his superiors let him keep this particular steed as his own charger after he gets knighted seven months from now when he turns eighteen. But then again, he might not want to pass up his chance to get one of those splendid stallions that was assigned to all new knights. He'd have to wait and see.

After saddling the gelding, he signed it out with the stable guard and mounted it. He began to head towards the eastern end of the city to exit its walls and enter the lovely autumn woods. But before he could even leave the training center, he was suddenly confronted by Borus, emerging from the barracks with an edgy look on his face.

"Now, you weren't _really_ gonna ask Chris Lightfellow to ride with you, right?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: Much shorter chapter. Pretty pointless, but I like it better than the first. Percival's personality comes off better. Not too much to say about it, really. _

"Get up, Percival. Come on!" Borus punched the sleeping boy hard on the shoulder twice. Percival moaned and forced himself to sit up on his bunker, rubbing his eyes. When he was finally able to open them, he was still barely able to see anything, as it was practically pitch dark inside the tiny dormitory he shared with Borus and two other boys. From the window high on the wall, he could see that it was no lighter outside.

"What _time_ is it?" he grumbled.

"About four-thirty."

Percival groaned and fell back onto his hard springy bed. He heard Borus's exasperated sigh. "If you're gonna come, you have to get up _now_! You haven't even packed. It's gonna take us the better part of the day to ride over to the manor, and we really _have_ to get there before suppertime!"

"I'm a fast rider..." Percival mumbled. "Just give me one more hour. We'll make it..."

"_Percival_!" Borus hissed quietly in a sharp whisper, not wanting to wake the two other squires.

"Fine, fine." He allowed himself to be pulled upright by Borus. Slouching over, he sat on the bed with his bare feet on the cold stone floor. He took a moment to adjust his eyes to the light as Borus lit a small flame in an oil lantern.

Borus was already fully prepared. He waited rather impatiently as Percival got dressed in some ragged, worn-out traveling clothes and put a few provisions into a small bag. "Aren't you gonna take any clothes?" he asked.

Percival tugged at the shirt he had on. "This isn't enough? We're only gonna be there a few days, right?"

"Well..."

It suddenly dawned upon Percival: the Redrums were refined wealthy landlords who might not look so well upon boys who never changed and dressed like dirty country hicks. He silently reproached himself for being so stupid. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

Borus shook his head. "No. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"It's okay. I'll change into something nicer. I must have a few clean shirts somewhere around here."

"Look, I said it's _fine_, all right?" He sounded very much irritated.

The voice of James Riddley, one of their roommates, suddenly spoke up in a half-asleep grumble. "Would you two shut the hell up? What in the name of the Goddess are you doing up at this bloody hour anyway?"

"I already _told_ you last night," Borus muttered angrily.

There was silence for an instant. "Oh yeah...sorry 'bout that. Congratulations, by the way." James shut himself up and apparently fell back asleep almost immediately.

Congratulations? Percival was puzzled. What the hell was he talking about? Borus's father just died and he's _congratulating _him? I'll never understand these noble kids, Percival thought, shaking his head.

In the glittering shadows of the lamp, Percival saw Borus look down at the floor. "Anyways, I don't care," Borus whispered to him. "Wear whatever you want."

"Look, Redrum. I don't want to screw this up for you just because I'm too lazy to find some proper clothes. I'm gonna be a guest at _your_ home and the least I can do is show some respect for your family by dressing decently."

Borus swept a tuft of blond hair from his eyes and looked up at Percival, evidently giving in. "Well, that's unusually mannered for you."

"See? I _do_ know what chivalry is, believe it or not," Percival commented as he flipped through his messy clothes chest, attempting but failing to find the aforementioned 'proper clothes' fit for visitation of an aristocratic manor.

Noticing his futile efforts, Borus bent down beside his own chest. "If you're really so insistent, I _can _lend you some of mine." He opened it, revealing tidy piles of clean, neatly folded clothes. "I bought these ones myself, so my mother wouldn't notice if you wore them."

"Oh, you're too _kind_, Lord Redrum. And I suppose you're not afraid I might get them covered in, say, wine spills or sauce stains or mud splashes or horse manure or—"

"You'd _better_ not!" Borus harshly whispered back as he handed Percival several orderly sets of shirts, trousers, and jackets for him to toss carelessly in his bag. "Some of these are _very _expensive imports from master tailors in Tinto."

"Imports from master tailors in Tinto? Someone seems to have a little _too _much spare time and money on his hands, eh?" Percival grinned gleefully at his own taunt.

"Look, you'd better take good care of them or else!"

"Or else _what_?"

"Just shut up and get ready."

Percival changed into one of Borus's nice new shirts and trousers, the most casual of the ones he received. They would be mostly traveling today, after all, so he might as well be comfortable. He finished packing and put on a pricey-looking jacket and scarf. "Yeah! Now _I _can look like a rich snob too!" he jokingly stated with a quiet laugh as he looked himself over in the mirror. Borus rolled his eyes.

Percival then picked up his sheathed steel sword, which stood against the wall at the foot of his bunker. It was the plain and unadorned, but nevertheless effective, type assigned to all squires. Like Borus had done already, he tied it to his belt. Zexen squires were permitted to use only wooden swords during training, but they were given real swords, which they were allowed to bring with them should they be taken into actual battle with their lords or if they were to travel alone, as he and Borus were about to do.

The two boys went out to the mess hall for some early breakfast before hitting the road. They quickly and silently ate the stale bread and watery soup served to them by the maid, who had been informed of their departure. They then headed for the stables.

The sky was still as dark as ever, with seemingly no signs of giving up to the morning sun. Percival signed out his chestnut steed with the night guard, while Borus selected a stocky bay gelding for his ride. They also picked out a gray mare to carry their packs (Borus's being considerably heavier than Percival's). Borus tied the mare to his horse in order to lead it. With that, they headed off, riding into the darkness of the early morning.


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: Err...I dropped a couple of F-bombs in this chapter, b/c they seemed to fit. Hope I won't offend anyone too much. Just a warning. This is my favorite chapter so far, since it finally gets to the point of the story. Oh, and this is all I have for now. I'll probably finish this story, since it's pretty fun to write. _

"Don't you think it's high time we stopped for lunch now?"

Percival's stomach growled as he kept his horse up at a brisk trotting pace with Borus. It was nearly noon and they hadn't eaten anything since five o'clock. All morning, they had been traveling southeast, crossing expansive farmlands and sparse woods, sometimes on dirt roads and other times off the beaten track. They passed a few villages and manors along the way, but stopped to rest at none of them. Borus led the way. He certainly seemed to know where he was going.

"In a bit," Borus replied. "I want to get to Khalan Bridge on the Cottonmouth River before we stop. It shouldn't be far now."

"Well, you seem rather eager to get home quickly."

Borus gave him a harsh look. "You think _that's_ the case? Look, the _last_ thing I want is to get home as soon as possible, but I need to make sure we _can_ get there before evening, or I'll never hear the end of it from my mother. Tonight dinner's supposed to be the big family gathering and all that bull."

"Yeah, but if you say the Redrum Manor is by Broma Village, we should have plenty of time to spare if we keep at this pace."

"There might be unexpected delays, you know." He paused. "Hey, if we get there early, we'll go check out Broma first, how's that?"

"I don't care about _that_, Redrum. I just want some food right now."

The two squires fell silent and rode on. Borus hadn't been very talkative for most of the morning, but Percival didn't mind at all. He very much enjoyed long, quiet rides across the countryside, especially at this time of year. The fiery fall colors of the woods and tall golden wheat harvests of the fields could always put his mind at ease.

The same couldn't be said for Borus, though. The blond boy had that remote, contemplative look on his face, and Percival noticed that he paid absolutely no attention to the beautiful scenery around him. He figured to just leave Borus alone in his thoughts.

They reached the river soon enough, and Borus took a turn to the north to follow the river upstream. After ten more minutes of riding, the Khalan Bridge came into sight.

The impressive stone bridge spanned across one of the narrower points of the great Cottonmouth River. It was the major crossings of the river in these parts, and it was part of the main roadway connected the town of Signet in the east on the Grassland border to Brass Castle in the northwest. As the only river crossing for miles around, it was quite busy with fellow travelers and merchant caravans from both Zexen and Grassland.

Stopping a few hundred meters short of the bridge, Borus halted his horse and dismounted. "Let's just stop here and eat. We'll get trampled by the merchants if we get any closer." Percival likewise dismounted and they removed their bags from the pack mare. They then let the three horses loose to graze in the lush riverside fields.

Percival took both their water canteens and trotted down to the river to refill them. When he got back, Borus had laid out practically a feast for himself: meat, fresh bread, cheese, fruits, and, of course, a bottle of expensive wine, the best that Zexen vineyards had to offer. Percival let out a laugh as he reached into his own bag and pulled out a tin can full of rock-hard biscuits and a sack of dried apple slices.

"What's so funny?"

"Didn't think anyone would be so, uh, lavish with their travel provisions." Borus glared at Percival, who gave a sycophantic smile back. "Say, that looks like more than you can eat all by yourself."

"Have some, then," Borus said with a shrug.

"Oh, _thank_ you, my lord," Percival exclaimed happily as he tossed aside his own biscuits and apples. "You will always be remembered for your immeasurable generosity towards this poor deprived starving wretch." He quickly dug into the banquet and greedily ate his fill.

Growing thirsty, Percival began to eye Borus's wine bottle. Borus noticed and handed it over to him. "Don't tell me you bring any of your dainty little wine glasses. Why, it's so _unbecoming_ of a gentleman to drink straight from the bottle!" Percival teased right before he threw back his head and took a great swig.

Borus looked at Percival and stated in a resigned voice, "Percival, please. I don't need any of your taunts right now."

Embarrassed, Percival quickly fell silent. "Sorry," he said as he handed back the bottle. "Good wine," he said after a long moment of stillness.

"Oh, this Zexen junk is _nothing_. I think we're gonna break out some of Dad's old priceless Chisha vintages from the cellar tonight at dinner. Wait 'til you should try some of _that_."

"All tastes the same if you ask me. Hell, you can get the exact same aftereffects from drinking enough of that watery fifteen-potch-a-pint beer back at Mike's Tavern."

"You don't know how to appreciate _anything_, do you?" Borus said shaking his head. He lay down onto the soft grass with the back of this head rested upon his clasped hands. Percival followed suit, yawning. They basked there in the warm autumn sun silently for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the rushing river. "You tired?" Borus suddenly asked, initiating some small talk.

"Mm-hmm. A bit. You _did_ get me up at four this morning."

"Well, you weren't up very late last night. I heard you come in around nine-thirty."

"You were awake?"

"Barely. What were you doing before that?"

"Why, seducing Chris Lightfellow, of course," Percival declared delightfully. He laughed as he glanced over to witness Borus's priceless indignant reaction. "No, seriously though, I ran into Mycella and all them coming back from Flandersville when I was returning from my ride. So we went to that cheap seafood diner on Ocean Street for dinner. Then we went lawn bowling at Antler Park 'til nine. The others were gonna go to some tavern or other, but I just went back to get some sleep."

"Well, that's a surprisingly tame evening for _you_. No sneaking into the Guild Hall courtyard and shaving some Councilman's poor dog this time?"

"Nah. That stuff's not really fun unless I have someone with me to throw a bloody fit and pretentiously pray for St. Loa's forgiveness right afterwards."

"Hey!" Borus objected with a grin on his face. "I did not throw a _bloody fit_, okay?"

"Right. Call it what you will." The two shared a light laugh over the memories of that particular night, but then grew silent again. Neither spoke for a full five minutes. Percival closed his eyes during this time, feeling perfectly content with his life. When he opened them, he stole a glance over at Borus and saw that he was staring up into the clear blue sky and had that brooding look on his face again.

"Say, Redrum," Percival broke the silence. "Care to tell me some of what's on your mind? That _is_ why you wanted me to come home with you, right? I'm still sorta in the dark here about what's going on and everything."

"Yeah, I suppose I should tell you." Borus looked over at the dark-haired squire. "Percival, I know you don't know much about our nobility traditions, but basically, sons aren't considered men no matter how old they are until their father dies. We're not allowed to get married or own land or sign contracts or have any kind of direction over our own lives until that happens."

Percival cocked his head to the side. "Well, you're only sixteen, you know. I mean, I can see how this arrangement would really suck for your older brothers, but...I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I don't think anyone really considers you a man right now, whether your old man croaked or not." Shouldn't have said that, he realized before he even finished speaking as he watched Borus fly into a rage at his words.

"Yeah?! Well, _fuck you_, too!" Borus shot furiously as he bolted upright. He clenched his teeth and cast a vicious stare at Percival. "Fucking asshole!"

"Hey, I didn't mean it _that_ way! I just meant that you probably weren't planning to get married and all that anytime soon anyways, right?"

Breathing heavily, Borus sighed, shook his head, and calmed down. "Hmm..." He idly picked up his sword, which he had taken off and laid down on the grass beside himself before eating. He unsheathed it and carefully examined the sharp steel blade.

Percival chuckled nervously as he watched Borus handle the sword. "Heh, heh. Okay, Redrum. You know what? You _are_ a man. You are one magnificent male specimen of the human race. Please don't kill me."

Borus smiled at Percival's joke, but didn't look up or utter a single word. He seemed to be a little embarrassed about his outburst just now. "Anyway," Percival continued as he sat up and grew serious again. "I don't quite see what you're so upset about." He cleared his throat. "Goddess, I feel absolutely awful saying this, but it almost seems to me like you guys should be...not..._too_...unhappy about this whole incident." He looked over apprehensively at his friend and quickly added, "I'm _really_ sorry if that offended you, Redrum."

"No. No, you're absolutely right," Borus said after a brief pause. He stood up and slashed his sword at the air in a skillful, practiced swipe. "They say that a nobleman's death is a blessing for his sons. Very true." He formed a rather guilty smile on his lips. "It's just that... You see, I've never made any serious choices for myself up until now, 'cause my old man would always make them for me. But now..." He looked at his reflection in the shiny blade of his sword. "Now I'm my own man and...I can do things for myself. _I_ lead my own life now, not my father, and I'm just starting to wonder if all those decisions he made for me in the past are really what _I _want. 'Cause, you know, I'm still young enough to go back on those decisions and make them _mine_, like they should be."

"What kind of decisions?" Percival asked curiously.

Borus dropped his voice to a barely audible murmur. "Like this whole knight business..."

"What?"

Borus shook his head. "Never mind. I still have a lot to think over."

"No, seriously. What did you mean by that?"

Borus ignored him and sheathed his sword. "And after all this, I still have my stupid family to contend with. My mom's okay, but my three brothers...ugh. You'll understand when we get there." He looked at Percival and grinned. "Well, at least my dad's out of the picture now. He used to give me even _more_ trouble than them." He stopped and looked around. "Hey, I think we've wasted enough time here, don't you? I'll go get the horses." He jogged off to gather the three scattered steeds.

Percival stood up, but didn't move from his spot. He was still baffled by Borus's peculiar statement. How could he possibly _not_ want to be a knight? Borus was easily the most hard-working and earnest squire he knew, not to mention one of the best swordsmen in the group. After all these years of training as a page, then as a squire, how could he, of all people, just consider quitting like that? He couldn't even begin to imagine Borus Redrum as anything else besides a Zexen Knight. He can't be serious, Percival thought. He was probably just spewing out the first thing that came to mind without even thinking. Percival decided to let it go for now.

He started to clean up after their meal. There wasn't much left over, but he put anything edible that remained into a container and tossed it over by Borus's bag. He then sat down on the grass and took a drink from his water canteen, waiting for Borus to return with the horses.

Percival thought about how odd he found Borus's sheer coldness towards his father's death. He certainly cared enough about the social implications, but was almost entirely indifferent to the fact that, well, his father just died. Maybe that was the price to pay for growing in such a well-off household: you were treated by your parents less as a loving son and more as an aloof beneficiary whose only purpose was to maintain the wealth and status of the family name. Not only that, but you couldn't even grow close to your brothers, since they were probably just viewed as your competitors for the inheritance land and money. Perhaps being a son of the nobility wasn't quite as easy as Percival had previously envisioned.

Borus returned shortly with all three horses. They gathered their belongings and got everything in order for the long ride ahead. "Oh, and Redrum?" Percival called out just as they were about to mount.

Borus turned his head towards Percival. "Hmm?"

Percival climbed onto the back of the chestnut gelding without looking at Borus and said, "I think _one_ of us really needs to work on being more secure in his masculinity." Without turning around to see Borus's venomous scowl, he laughed and started his way along the river towards the Khalan Bridge.


	4. Chapter 4

_Note: This chapter's kinda slow...but I do like the first half. It's a bit out of place and distracting, but the idea seemed too good to give up at the time. I've always admired the translators' sense of humor with some of the names in the game. Feedback much appreciated._

Redrum Manor came into view in the distance at around three o'clock in the afternoon. Vast fertile farmland, its crops ready for the autumn harvest, stretched for miles around the actual manor and was tended to by embedded serfs. Borus had insisted on not going home any sooner than was necessary, so the two squires instead started down an eastward road towards the village of Broma, a twenty-minute ride away.

Along the way, Percival and Borus passed by several serfs working the fields. They all stopped and greeted the boys very respectfully, referring to them by such grandiose titles as "my lord" and "master". Borus, of course, was used to it, but the treatment made Percival very uncomfortable. Although his peasant family had not been under the bondages of serfdom, rich noblemen sometimes visited Iksay Village to survey the land. He remembered how he used to view them: as stuck-up, condescending sons of bitches riding high and mighty atop their fancy horses and treating the villagers like dogs in their own homes. Percival was under no illusions about how these serfs _really_ felt about him and Borus behind their flattering smiles and reverent compliments, and it certainly felt unpleasant to be on the receiving end of it.

The two soon reached Broma, a small farming community much like Percival's own hometown. They brought their horses to an inn stable and paid some money to keep the animals there while they explored the village on foot. Borus led Percival to the marketplace, the busiest section of town. There, they meandered leisurely through the street stands, buying some fruit to eat along the way and taking a closer look at craftwork that caught their eye.

Eventually, the squires reached the town square, an open ground paved with stone that spread out before the court hall. "Whoa! Look at that!" Borus suddenly pointed past Percival's shoulder towards the sprouting fountain that stood at the center of the square.

Percival turned his head towards where Borus was pointing and saw what had to be one of the strangest sights he'd ever set eyes on. There, playing beside the fountain, was a little tan-skinned, creamy-haired Karayan boy, around seven or eight years old. He seemed to be waiting for someone. With him was a bizarre creature, the likes of which Percival had never seen before. It was as big as an ox, and it had the head and fore claws of an eagle, the body and hind legs of a lion, and the tail of a horse.

"Oi! What the bloody hell _is _that thing?" Percival muttered.

"No idea," Borus replied. "Sure looks fucked up beyond all recognition, though. Like a panther screwed a duck."

"Heh heh. Fucked up beyond all recognition... You're right, man."

All of a sudden, the Karayan boy turned and saw the two squires looking in his direction. He excitedly ran towards them, his pet trailing behind. As the strange beast neared them, both Percival and Borus took a nervous step back. Borus's hand reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Hi!" the little boy said as he came up to Percival and Borus. "Were you guys looking at him?" He stroked the beast on the head, which nuzzled him and let out a soft cry resembling that of a hawk. "It's okay. He won't bite you." He seemed quite eager to show off his exotic pet.

The two relaxed a bit. Percival leaned his head towards the beast, admiring the up-close creature with awe. "Um... What is your buddy, exactly?"

"He's a griffin!"

"A griffin?" Borus inquired curiously. "Never heard of it. Is it some kind of new Grassland riding beast?"

"Uh-huh," the boy answered proudly. "But they're really, really rare. My mom got him for me yesterday. She can 'cause she's the chief of our village!"

"Oh yeah? What's his name?" Percival asked.

The boy lowered his head. "I haven't thought up a good one yet."

At those words, Percival suddenly cast a very mischievous glance at his friend. Borus frowned, wondering what he might be up to. "Say, kid. I think I might have a good name for him."

"What is it?" the boy asked, looking up.

"How about _Fubar_?" Percival suggested with a grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Borus suddenly shake as he struggled to keep from cracking up.

"Fubar?" The boy cocked his head. "What does it mean?"

"It's an old Zexen term for strange things like your pal here and whatnot," Percival stated matter-of-factly.

"Really?" The boy smiled. "Fubar... Hey, that _does _sound cool. Yeah!" He looked at his griffin. "Your new name is Fubar!" At this point, a chortle escaped from Borus's throat, which he disguised as a cough. The boy beamed up at Percival. "Thanks, mister!"

"No problem, kid."

"I gotta go tell my mom!" The boy started to run off towards the court hall. "C'mon, Fubar!" He called out to his griffin, which turned to follow him. "Bye!" he yelled back to the squires.

As soon as the Karayan boy was out of earshot, Percival and Borus both let out their previously stifled laughs until their sides hurt. As he brought himself back under control, Borus shook his head at Percival, smirking. "Poor kid. You know, you are one mean son of a bitch, Percival."

It was soon time to head back to the manor, as the sun was just beginning to set. Percival and Borus fetched their horses from the stable and quickly rode them towards their final destination.

They speedily returned to the manor and rode through the fields and the Redrum's own private hunting forest towards the iron front gate of the house itself. As they got closer to the manor, Percival was truly able to appreciate its size. The house was massive, at least as large as the enormous Guild Hall building itself in Vinay del Zexay, and that was just what he could see from the mansion's frontal façade. Percival could hardly imagine anyone actually needing to live in a place as big as this. His own home in Iksay consisted of a tiny two-roomed apartment above his father's shop.

The boys rode up to the ornate front gate, which stood between high stone walls that encircled the manor and a large area around it. Behind the gate was a curving brick road, which ran up to the front door of the manor itself. On the other side of the walls, Percival heard the barking of what sounded like a whole pack of dogs.

Two armed guards stood beside the gates. When they saw Borus approaching, they waved and greeted him with great enthusiasm. "Master Borus!" one guard called out. "You're finally here! Your mother's been waiting for you! You're practically the last one to arrive out of all your relatives, you know." The guard opened the gate and motioned for the other guard to head for the manor and fetch some servants to help the boys carry their packs.

"Am I now?" Borus mumbled without any of the enthusiasm of the guard.

"What took you so long, my lord?"

"We, uh, overslept..."

"Well, I suppose it can't be helped. I can only imagine your weariness, what with your grueling knight training and all." He looked over at Percival. "And who is this young lord?"

"This is, um, _Lord_ Percival." He and Percival exchanged a silent grin. "He's a fellow squire. A guest of mine. I expect him to be treated as such."

"Yes, of course. Welcome, Lord Percival."

"Thank you very much, sir," Percival said politely with a nod, at which point Borus pulled him aside.

"Okay, Percival. Rule number one," he whispered quietly. "You don't call any of the servants 'sir' or 'ma'am' or anything like that. You call them by their first names. And if you don't know it, you don't address them at all. Just say, 'Maid, fetch my blanket!' or whatever. It's a matter of presenting your superior standing."

What superior standing? Percival gave Borus a disgruntled look. "You know, Redrum. Where _I _come from, we treat people who show us hospitality with _respect_."

"Well, you're in a different place now. Status is everything here." Borus sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk or anything. You know I'm not usually like this. I just want to teach you how to fit in for the next few days."

Percival nodded and looked away, feeling very awkward. "I understand. Sorry."

Soon, four servants arrived at the gate along with the second guard. After greeting Borus and Percival, two of them took the three horses and headed off towards the stables. The other two reached the squires' packs to take them for the boys.

"It's all right. Really," Percival said as a servant asked for his pack. "It's not heavy. I can carry it." But Borus stopped his resistance by shaking his head at Percival as he handed over his own packs. "Um, okay," Percival muttered as he followed suit.

The two servants headed for the front doors, while the two guards remained and closed the gate behind them. The boys followed at a distance.

"You might as well _enjoy _the pampering while you're here," Borus said quietly. "It might be a good experience for the likes of _you_." Percival raised an eyebrow at him.

As he walked, Percival turned his head towards the sound of the barking and saw a large fenced-in area in the distance filled with about two dozen magnificent hounds baying at them as they passed. "Nice dogs," he commented.

"They're the prize hounds we use for morning hunts," Borus explained. "Those are the foxhounds. The deerhounds are kept out back."

Percival let out a soft whistle, impressed with not just the sheer number of dogs the Redrums kept, but also with how cold and impersonal it all seemed. Sure, the hounds were beautiful and well fed, but how often were they played with or treated as anything other than expensive property with a specific purpose? "I had a dog when I was a kid," he said to Borus. "His name was Scruffy. Big dirty mangy mongrel with pointy ears. I mean, granted, he wasn't a purebred trophy dog like those, but I liked him anyway. He'd follow me everywhere. He was kinda stupid, though."

"Yeah, dogs tend to be. What happened to it?"

"Got beaten to death by some shepherd who thought he was a wolf going after his sheep," he said with a nostalgic laugh. "Damn, I miss that mutt."

As the mansion drew closer, Percival grew quite edgy. He had seen countless aristocratic manors from the outside before, but had never been in one. He was nervous about meeting Borus's family, as he became increasingly certain that he could never convincingly act like one of their kind.

"Hey, man," he said suddenly. "Let's get something straight. Am I _supposed_ to be pretending to be some rich kid while I'm here?"

"No! Of course not! Just be yourself."

"Be _myself_?"

Borus glanced at his grinning friend. "Scratch that. At least _try _to act presentable."

Percival chuckled. "Right. Anyway, what happened to Rule Number One?"

Borus shook his head. "Look, you really don't have to pretend to be anyone you're not. What I said before about the servants, it was really more of a suggestion. I shouldn't have said it like that. I'm sorry. You don't have to behave that way if you don't want to. I know you're not used to it, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable. You're my guest. My family won't throw you out just 'cause you're not nobility."

"Well, all right. But what about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"I mean, if you say status is everything, will you be..._uncomfortable_ around your family with _my _status?"

Borus suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and gave Percival a serious glare. "After all this time we've known each other, Percival, do you really still think that's the kind of person I am?"

Percival saw the total earnestness in the blond squire's eyes. It made him uncomfortable, and he turned away. "Er..."

"Listen, if I were ashamed of the fact that you're a commoner, would I have brought you here?"

"No, I guess not," Percival replied as they continued walking. He grinned sideways at Borus and said in mock sincerity, "Well, aren't you the progressive, egalitarian one, Lord Redrum. Truly a lord among lords."

"Go to hell," Borus growled.

The boys reached the wide marble front steps of the manor. Two majestic stone lions stood along both sides of the steps, their expressions grave and vigilant as if they were actually guarding the house. Percival and Borus stepped up the to the imposing front doors, made of polished wood and towering above them. The servants opened the doors and held them for the squires, bowing their heads slightly. Percival took a deep breath, as if readying himself to enter the unknown. Alongside Borus, he stepped past the doors and into the manor.


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: Yeah, so I finally wrote another chapter of this. Not much to say here. Borus's family finally comes into the story, including his brothers. Sorry if the technical details I made up for this story are way off from__ actual medieval stuff __(I'm a computer science major, not a history major). Anyway, I am still hoping to finish this story, but don't get your hopes up._

"Borus! You're finally here!"

A middle-aged woman with braided blond hair and wearing a dress that must have been worth more than the Fraulein family's entire savings stood from the couch in the cavernous, luxuriously decorated living room. She stepped up to her son. Sitting on the sofas and armchairs all around the room were about twenty other refined-looking folks, whom Percival guessed were relatives of Borus. They looked over at the two squires and started quietly whispering to each other.

"Hi, mum," Borus muttered, looking down at the ground. "Long time, no see." His mother opened her arms, and Borus gave her a hug rather reluctantly. He quickly pulled away, unwilling to show too much affection with her in front of so many people.

The rest of the relatives then received the blond teenage boy heartily, commenting on how much he's grown and how strong he looked and such. Borus looked at them quizzically, tensely smiling and answering their questions. He appeared to be meeting most of them for the first time in his life. Percival stood behind the boy at the center of the attention, glad that he'd gone unnoticed so far.

Borus finally turned to his mother. "I do apologize for being late, mum. We were… delayed on the trip here."

"Well, it _is _a long way from Vinay, Borus. I wouldn't expect any better. You must be tired."

"I'm all right. Sorry about my father." Borus looked down at the ground in a rather unconvincing attempt to appear truly sorry.

His mother sadly shook her head. "It was his time. His four sons have all come of age, after all…" She then turned to Percival. "I see you've brought a guest."

"Hullo, Mrs. Redrum," Percival said courteously, bowing a bit. Percival was anything but shy, but the entire situation was so alien to him, as it would be to any peasant boy, that his heart started to beat fast and his palms grew sweaty. Fortunately, he always did a good job of hiding any signs of nervousness.

"Ah, this is my friend Percival," Borus introduced. "He's also a squire of the Knights. I hope it's all right for him to stay with us."

"Well, of course it is. Your two eldest brothers both brought guests too. Their fiancées, in fact." She smiled. "I suppose you're a little young for that."

Borus chuckled nervously. "Yeah…"

"So, Borus. I don't suppose you remember all these people here. Let me introduce you…" For the next fifteen minutes, Borus's mother went around the room, telling Borus the names of his relatives, as well as his (often very distant) relationships to them. Percival completely lost interest by the second introduction, and from the look on Borus's face, he was just as bored. Percival did notice, however, that none of Borus's brothers were among the ones here.

"I'm sure you'll want a hot bath right now," Mrs. Redrum said to him after the induction was finally over. "I'll call the servants to run one right now. You too… uh… Percible?"

"It's 'Percival', milady."

"My, that's a hard name to remember. Is it alright if I called you 'Percy'?"

Percival cringed at the sound of the nickname he hated so much. "Well, actually milady, 'Percible' is _perfectly _fine if you can't remember 'Percival'. In fact—"

"Yeah, sure, mum," Borus suddenly cut in. "You can call him Percy. Right, Percy?" He smiled innocently at Percival.

"All right, Percy," she said. "I'll tell them to run you a bath too." Percival gave Borus a death glare. Oh, there was gonna be hell to pay.

Just as Mrs. Redrum was about to call for the servants, she suddenly stopped. "Oh, wait a minute, Borus! You haven't said hello to your brothers yet!"

"Uh, I think I'd rather go with the bath," Borus muttered softly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Borus. They're in the sitting room. Discussing inheritance, I think. Apparently, your father was a bit vague on the terms in his will. You should go, unless you want to miss out on your fair share."

Borus sighed. "Fine. Which sitting room?"

"The second floor one," his mother said. "Go on now. And bring Percy with you. I'm sure he'll want to meet them as well." Borus sighed again as he turned to leave the living room, motioning Percival to come with him. "Dinner'll be ready soon," she called after them. "You can take your baths afterwards. Just change into some clean clothes beforehand."

"See how these stupid family reunions are now?" Borus said in an annoyed voice to Percival and he led them through the mansions seemingly endless halls and rooms and up the stairs. "First I get to be fussed over by a bunch of distant relatives I've never seen before. And now I get to be tormented by those three assholes."

"Aw, it can't be that bad to be home," Percival replied cheerfully, not quite catching onto Borus's worsening mood. "I mean, just look at the size of this place! Hell, you could ride a horse through here!"

Borus completely ignored Percival, lost in his own rants. "And when my dad was still alive, he'd then give me these torturous talks about how I'm too young and stupid to make the smallest decision for myself. And how I'd screw up the family name if I did. And how, being the youngest and most useless son, I'd never live up to my _wonderful_ brothers unless I were to do something like become some great knight and get killed heroically in battle." He scowled, growing ever angrier as he talked. "Goddess, he wanted me to _die _just to bring glory to his name! He cared more about his damn own _reputation_ than about my _life_! I'm so fucking glad he's dead!"

"Redrum…" Percival trailed off, unsure of what to say. Both of them remained silent for a while as they walked.

When Borus had a chance to cool down, he turned to Percival. "Call me 'Borus', all right? At least for now. People won't know who you're referring to otherwise."

"Okay, _Borus_. But if you _dare_ utter the word 'Percy' again—"

"Yeah, yeah. You'll run me through with your sword, impale me against the wall, and castrate me with your boot knife. Gotcha."

"Yep. That's the idea. But that last part was a just _bit_ too graphic."

Borus forced out a laugh. They had reached the second floor sitting room by then. Borus took a deep breath and walked into the room, with Percival following.

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to show up." Inside the sitting room, three men sat on couches around a coffee table. Ah, the Redrum brothers, Percival thought. "Good to see you again," the eldest of the three said, his voice flat and unenthusiastic. The second eldest said nothing, only nodding once at his youngest brother in greeting.

"Who the hell is that?" The youngest of the three looked at the dark-haired boy beside Borus.

Borus looked at the ground as he introduced his brothers to Percival. "Guys, this is Percival. Percival, this is Orwell," he said, pointing at the eldest. Orwell, as Borus had told Percival earlier, was twenty-nine. Having studied politics at the prestigious University of Bergen in southern Zexen and graduated with honors, he had high hopes and (now, with his father's death) very good chances of being elected to the Zexen Council at the next general election in the coming spring. Also, as was customary for the eldest son, he currently stood to inherit his father's manor.

"Maksim," Borus continued, waving his hand over his second brother. Even before Borus had told Percival about Maksim Redrum, Percival had heard the renowned young entrepreneur's name mentioned quite a bit among the streets of Vinay. At only age twenty-four, Maksim had already made his own sizable fortune from the spice trade with Grassland. He was currently the head of the powerful Spice Merchant Guild, which he had founded himself (with his father's help, of course, since he was not allowed to legally sign any contracts before his father's death). Even though Redrum Manor was not his to inherit, it didn't matter in the slightest, because he had his very own equally impressive estate in the countryside just outside Vinay del Zexay (of course, it had officially been under his father's name, previously).

"And Niccolo," Borus said as he lastly introduced the brother who was closest to his own age. As according to nobility tradition for third sons, Niccolo had been sent off by his father into the service of the Church at age fourteen, as the Archbishop of Syon's apprentice. Now nineteen, he had two more years to go before he himself is appointed bishop and given his own diocese. Percival instantly perceived that Niccolo carried a look of sharp bitterness and cynicism upon his face, and he certainly looked nothing like a member of the clergy.

Niccolo rolled his eyes. "So you finally made a friend, huh, Borus?"

"Yeah," Borus angrily retorted. "But it looked like you haven't, since you're the only one who didn't bring anyone home with you."

"All you brought is another squire who probably just wanted an excuse to get out of training for a couple of days. When you bring a girl home, which of course won't happen, but let's just say you do, then we'll talk."

"I don't see why _you're_ talking. _You_ didn't bring a girl home, either."

"I'm a _clergyman_, you dumbass. I _can't_ bring girls home."

"Not that it stops you from frequenting whorehouses, I bet."

"Shut the fuck up, kid. You don't have the right to talk to me like that." Niccolo's voice was perpetually calm, but acutely vicious.

"Yeah, well, I don't think _clergymen_ have the right to use that kind of language."

Niccolo stood up abruptly and brushed back his curly blond hair that partially hung over his eyes. Tall and lanky, he towered over Borus. "All right, you're just begging for me to kick your ass now."

"Oh, for Sadie's sake, will you two _grow the hell up_!" Orwell shook his head in frustration as he interrupted his two younger brothers before their quarrel escalated to anything physical. Niccolo glared at Borus, but sat back down. "How in the world am I related to you people?" Orwell muttered to the side. Borus and Percival took a seat next to each other on an empty couch around the table.

Orwell looked up and smiled politely at Percival, who had kept quiet the entire time. "So, Percival, is it?"

"Yes." Percival stopped himself just before adding the formal address "my lord" after his statement. Orwell looked very much like the high-born nobleman that he was, and Percival had been conditioned his entire life to speak to such people with the utmost respect, but it would have sounded awkward in this situation for some reason. Percival couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"So what family are you from?" Maksim asked. He didn't sound the least bit interested in Percival's reply, but rather was just trying to be polite.

"Er, the Fraulein family."

"Huh. Never heard of it. What does your father do?"

Percival started to grow very uncomfortable. Obviously, Borus's brothers had automatically assumed that he was from an aristocratic family as well. He didn't quite know how to break it to them that his father was a mere blacksmith who didn't even own any land. He looked to Borus, but his friend just looked at him back indifferently. It's up to you what you want to tell them, Borus's eyes told him. "Uh, he deals in horseshoes," Percival finally said.

"Oh really?" Maksim's interest suddenly perked up sharply. "Does he belong to the Metalworks Guild, by any chance?"

"He, uh, has connections there." It wasn't an outright lie, but it was a big stretch of the truth. His father did sometimes sell the extra horseshoes that he forges to traveling merchants from Vinay who belonged to the guild. For some reason, Percival simply couldn't bring himself to tell them the straightforward truth.

"Does he? You see, my Spice Merchant Guild's biggest competitor right now is the Salt Trader's Guild. I'd like to merge our guilds so that the Spice Merchants can hold a monopoly on all spices, but the other guild isn't quite so willing. If we can form an alliance with a guild as powerful as Metalworks, then we may be able to ask them to manipulate their prices so as to help us drive the Salt Traders out of business, after which the Salt Traders will have no choice but to merge with us. But anyway, since your father has connections within Metalworks, I'd like to send a messenger to speak with him about it. Where does he reside?"

Holy Goddess, what did I get myself into? Percival thought, his mind in a panic. He caught a glimpse of Borus beside him contorting his face to hold back a laugh. "He lives about a two-day's ride to the northeast of Vinay, near the Grassland border." All right, Percival thought. This has gone on long enough. If he asks me the name of my father's manor next, I'm just gonna come out and tell him that he doesn't own one.

But, to Percival's great relief, Maksim was interrupted from further inquiries by Orwell. "Look Maksim, I don't have the time or patience to listen to you discuss your business right now. We're here to talk about the inheritance."

Maksim glowered at his older brother, then turned his head. "Just because _I_ went out and made a name for myself instead of depending upon my birthright from Daddy, there's no need for _you_ to be bitter."

Orwell gave Maksim a stony glare, and Maksim stared at him right back in the eyes. For a moment, it looked like another fight was about to erupt among the brothers. Percival suddenly stood up, realizing that this was probably his cue to leave. "I'm sorry," he said uncomfortably. "It really isn't my place to be here. I'm gonna head off."

"Yes, will you?" Orwell said, temporarily breaking up the tension between himself and Maksim. "Sorry, but these are Redrum family affairs."

Percival patted Borus on the shoulder as he stood up. He leaned close to his friend's ear. "Have fun," he whispered, grinning.

Borus quietly groaned. "This is gonna be a long evening," he whispered back.

Percival walked to the door of the sitting room and opened it. He took one last look back at the four brothers, with Borus slouched miserably on the couch, and then walked out of the room to head for a nice hot bath.


	6. Chapter 6

_Note: Finally got another chapter done. Long one too. School's almost over, and I have more time to write now, so maybe I'll finish this over the summer. Please leave me some reviews and tell me what you think.  
_

In the hour before dinner, Percival took a hot bath that was already prepared for him by the servants, then spent the rest of the time in a large game room where the children of the guests played. There were about a dozen little kids in the room accompanied by their nursemaids, who also came along with the Redrums's guests.

But Percival's main focus was on two very attractive women, older than him but certainly young enough, talking to each other in the corner. He strutted over and introduced himself as Lord Percival of Iksay (not that two noblewomen would ever know that Iksay was actually an obscure peasant village and not the title of some large tract of land his family owned). He learned that they were the fiancées of Orwell and Maksim, which disheartened him a bit, but did nothing to stop him from some intensive but harmless flirting, a natural talent of his whether his targets were noblewomen or not.

Just as Percival was relating to them a grossly exaggerated account about a battle that his lord Sir Sihelm once brought him along to, the dinner bell rang. The nursemaids led off the children to their own special dining room, while Percival escorted the ladies off the main feast, one in each arm.

In the main hall, were a long table covered with magnificent, mouth-watering dishes stood, Percival and the ladies ran into the Redrum brothers as they were just coming down the stairs. The women then went to their respective fiancés, each of whom gave Percival an icy glare. Percival grinned smugly back, then headed off to meet up with Borus again.

"So, did you get your inheritance thing figured out?" Percival asked as he stepped up beside the blond boy, whose eyes were upon the ground as he walked.

"Ha ha. Very funny. We didn't even get around to discussing inheritance. We just sat around, complaining about every stupid, trivial problem in our lives and blaming it on our father."

"Ah, the problems of the nobility. How can the petty plights of the peasants, naught but minor predicaments like poverty, disease, and starvation, even _begin_ to compare with the enormous scope of their unfathomable inconveniences, like beggars at the doorstep or getting pestered by those stupid townsfolk who can't even defend their _own_ damn villages against barbarian raids."

"Okay, okay, I get your point. Anyway, we _did_ manage to all agree on one thing though," Borus said, casting a sidelong grin at Percival.

"And what may _that _be, prithee?"

"That if our father hadn't died right when he did, then we would've had to kill him ourselves."

"Oh," Percival chuckled nervously. "Right." He paused. "Well, on a brighter note, have you seen your soon-to-be-sister-in-laws yet? 'Cause they're both quite visually stunning."

"What a surprise," Borus muttered flatly. "Being wealthy and successful lands you a beautiful wife." Percival caught a brief envious glance that his friend shot in the direction of his Orwell, Maksim, and their fiancées. Borus quickly shook his head and looked back down.

"Hmm…Emily has a prettier face and nicer hair, but Laura has by far the better body," Percival mused. "Ah, man, can you imagine Emily's face on Laura's body?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Percival. Besides, do you _really _want to be where my brothers probably were last night?"

"Oh, don't ruin it for me, Redrum. With upper class ladies like those, you know, my imagination is all I have."

The two squires reached the tabled and took two seats next to each other. At the head of the table sat Orwell, and at the other end sat Mrs. Redrum.

"So I guess you've decided to pretend to be a nobleman, huh?" Borus quietly asked him.

"If that's what it takes to get women to talk to me around here, then I guess so." Percival suddenly thought of Maksim's questions that afternoon, which quickly got him to reconsider. He certainly did not want to be put in that kind of situation again.

"Up to you," Borus said with a shrug. "Just make sure that you don't get more than you bargain for."

"You don't have to tell me _that_, Redrum. I can take care of myself."

Dinner began with a prayer to St. Loa. At least that part nobility life was familiar to Percival, whose own family insisted on never eating a meal before saying grace. However, the numerous shiny eating utensils laid out before him made him tense. He had a feeling that they were supposed to be used when eating, but had absolutely no idea what most of them were. Finally, he decided to force down his hunger and watch Borus's mannerisms before he started to eat himself, although the delectable smell rising from the food made this task very difficult.

The feast was scrumptious. There were many kinds of freshly killed game meat—venison, pheasant, boar, rabbit, heron, and others—that Percival had never tasted before, since the lower classes usually lacked the free time to go hunting, and almost all hunting grounds were strictly reserved for the highest echelon of society anyway. All the dishes were lavishly dressed with delicious, exotic, and very expensive spices from far-off lands, no doubt credited to Maksim. Strong, aged, exquisite Chisha red wine was served with the food, just as Borus had told Percival earlier.

Percival remained wordless throughout most of dinner as the Redrum families and their guests questioned the Redrum brothers (mainly Orwell and Maksim) on their current affairs and plans for the future. The atmosphere was cheerful, and there was quite a bit of mirth. If Percival didn't know already, he would never have guessed that the last man of the house had just passed away.

It was when everyone had finished eating and the servants cleared the table and served the desserts when something completely unexpected happened. The Redrums and their guests were now just making conversation as they helped themselves to a wide variety of sweets. Percival noticed that Niccolo had remained quiet throughout most of dinner, only opening his mouth to give curt answers to other people's questions. Suddenly, without any warning, he turned to Mrs. Redrum and said in a firm voice, "Mother, I'm leaving the Church's service."

That statement coming from the third son of the late, esteemed James Redrum immediately silenced up the entire party, as their attentions focused upon the tall blond young man. Mrs. Redrum stared shocked and speechless at Niccolo. It was Orwell who finally spoke up. "Is this a joke, Niccolo? Because it isn't funny."

"No, Orwell. It's not a bloody joke. For the past five years, I've been forced to train to spend the rest of my life doing something that I hate. I had no say in this decision at all, and now that _he's_ dead, there's absolutely no reason for me to continue down this path."

"Niccolo…" Mr. Redrum began softly.

"Mother, look at it this way. A true servant of the Goddess chooses to dedicate himself to Her. If someone serves Her solely because they were required to and doesn't really want to be a clergyman, then it's just a lie and a blasphemy to the Goddess Herself. I don't have it in me be a bishop, I sure as hell am _not_ going to take and keep any vow of celibacy, so for me and the Goddess and everyone involved, this is the best decision. I've thought it over, it's final, and there's nothing you can say or do to change my mind." As soon as he finished his speech, Niccolo pulled out his chair, stood up, and left the room, leaving the entire table in dead silence.

After a moment, Orwell spoke up again. "I'm sorry you had to see the childish antics of my brother," he apologized to the guests. "Don't worry, Mother. I'll go talk him to his senses. He just—"

"Don't be an idiot, Orwell," Maksim interrupted. "The kid had a point, you know. You're not his father, so let him do as he chooses. He's a man now."

There was a pause, and it was apparent that the eldest brother, though furious at Maksim, didn't want to start a fight in front of all the guests. "Why don't we bring this discussion upstairs, Maksim," he stated bitterly.

"As you please." Maksim and Orwell both got up and headed out of the dining hall, their eyes coldly fixed upon each other.

As soon as they were gone, Borus turned to his mother. "Um…may Percival and I be excused as well?"

Still stunned at the events that just happened so quickly, Mrs. Redrum allowed for an extended pause before replying. "Y-yes, Borus. Go ahead." Her voice was little and shaky. Borus motioned for Percival to follow as he left the table and went upstairs.

"Wow," Borus said to his fellow squire as soon as they were out of the hearing range of the people still at the table. "I don't believe I've ever respected Niccolo as much as I do right now." He grinned. "Did you see that? My brother just up and told Mother exactly how he felt. He started to take his life in a direction that he himself wanted it to go. Now _that_ takes guts."

At that statement, Percival suddenly remembered again the conversation he had with Borus over lunch, about how joining the Knighthood wasn't Borus's own choice, and how he still had time to reconsider his future occupation. He now understood more clearly the shackles that nobility traditions had tied Borus down with. If it was going to be Borus's decision to leave the knighthood, Percival had no right to try to stop him.

But nevertheless, Percival wondered that if Borus really was going to quit being a squire, would it be because he really wasn't satisfied with his current course of life, or because he just wanted to break away from the decisions that his father made for him? He knew that Borus always had genuine enthusiasm to be a great knight. Just because he _could_ turn his life in a different direction right now didn't necessarily mean that he _should_, or he might end up doing something he'll regret later on.

Whatever the case, this wasn't exactly the time to lecture his friend. "Yes, that was rather impressive of him, wasn't it?" Percival agreed.

"Tell me about it." A wide smile formed on Borus's face. He suddenly turned to Percival. "Hey, man. You know where your room is?"

"Uh, yeah. One of the servants showed me earlier. Very spacey. I like it."

"Well, why don't you head there now. I want to go catch up with Niccolo for a while. I think we have quite a bit to talk about just between the two of us. He's in the perfect position give me some advice on how to best take advantage of Father's death."

"Um… how to best take advantage of your father's death?"

"Look, it won't take too long. I'll come find you when I'm done, and I'll show you our stables when I get back. Lots of fine horses there, but I'm sure you'd know better when you see them"

Any thought Percival had of possibly questioning Borus further was instantly shot down by that promise. "Okay, deal."

"All right. See you later." Borus eagerly jogged off in the opposite direction down the long, mazelike upstairs corridor and disappeared around one of the bends.

It took Percival almost ten minutes to find his way his guest room. His bags and sword had already been brought there by the servants and laid down beside the large doubles bed with fancy satin sheets that matched the plush carpet.

The spacious room was almost entirely empty except for the bed. To pass the time, Percival took his sword from its sheath and did a few swinging exercises in the wide open space. It wasn't long, though, before Borus knocked on the door and entered, looking disgruntled.

"Orwell and Maksim were both in Niccolo room," Borus stated. "Orwell was trying to give him a damn lecture about responsibility, and Maksim is just sort of there countering Orwell and making things difficult for him. It's kind of funny, really, because I can see the look in Niccolo's eyes. They can talk to him until the sky falls down, but he won't give a rat's ass about their words, because he's already made his decision. It's quite admirable, but I wish I could've gotten him alone for just a little bit."

"Yes, that is regrettable," Percival replied as he put away his sword. "But I'm still gonna hold you on what you said earlier. Let's go to the stables."

Borus rolled his eyes. "Girls and horses. I swear that's all you ever think about."

"That's all that matters. Come on, let's go."

The two squires headed downstairs and went out of one of the back doors of the mansion. They quickly crossed a well-maintained hedge garden in the quiet dusk and followed a stone path to a large, magnificent wooden building.

Percival couldn't believe at first that such a fancy building would be used for holding horses. The tall doors were open, and they went inside. The interior of the stable was no less dignified. If only these horses were actually aware that they live under better conditions than most peasants in the world, Percival thought.

There was a stable boy grooming one of the horses. As soon as he saw the squires come in, he came over and asked, "Master Borus, do you need anything?"

"Nah. I'm just showing the animals to my friend here."

"Would you like privacy, my lord."

"Uh, sure. Why not?"

Borus's response quickly got the stable boy gather his supplies and leave. By then, Percival was already by one of the stalls, checking out a splendid great black stallion that had immediately caught his eye. "Mind if I go inside?" he asked Borus as the blond boy walked over to him.

"Uh, I don't know if that one frightens easily or not."

"He doesn't. I can tell," Percival said as he opened the gate to the stall and went inside. "What's his name?" he asked as he stroked the stallion's well-groomed glossy jet-black coat.

"Not sure, but I think it's Blackbird. Or something else with a 'black' in it. We've had that one around for a few years. One of our best, according to the grooms. I believe it's one of our studs."

"Ah, that's a good life," Percival said as he patted the stallion's shoulder. "He _is_ an exceptionally fine animal. Very solid build and calm character. Of course, I haven't seen him in action yet, but I'm sure that's magnificent too. Do you use him for hunting?"

"Yeah. All the horses here are used for hunting or just pleasure riding. The big working draft horses that plow fields are kept by the serfs."

"Do you think I can take this beauty out for a ride sometime tomorrow?"

"Sure. Just tell one of the grooms whenever you want to, and they'll saddle it up for you."

"Thanks, man," Percival said as he stepped out of the stallion's stall and closed the gate. "Heh, I remember my first horse."

"Yes, Percival, you already told me this story at least a dozen times. You were five. Her name was Griselda. She was one of the foals of a draft mare that belonged to this farmer who was one of your father's regular customers. She was born with a lame leg, so the farmer just gave her to you, because she won't be able to effectively do farm work. You rode her everywhere, even though she couldn't go very fast. She's still around back home, and she's still your favorite, even though your family has two other non-lame horses now. Is that all correct?"

Percival laughed. "All right, how about my first girl?" he asked as he continued on take a look at the other horses.

"You mean that horny seventeen-year-old carpenter's daughter when you were fourteen?" Borus replied, following his friend.

"Yep, that one. Well, I guess you pretty much know everything there is to know about me, Redrum."

"I've just been around you for too long." Borus paused. "Didn't you say she wasn't that attractive?"

"That's only compared to some of the girls who were _real_ lookers that I've had _after_ her. She wasn't that bad, and she gave me what I wanted. Besides, I don't think _you're_ in any position to talk given your experience in such matters, or lack thereof."

"Shut up. You know, just because I want a girl for more than just sex—"

"Man, don't even _try_ to use that chivalry crap as an excuse for not getting laid. It just makes it even sadder." He grinned widely at Borus to show that he was joking, and then ducked to just barely avoid a forceful punch from the irritated blond squire.

The two boys spent the two hours or so looking over the rest of the horses while engaging in lighthearted talk. After Percival took his time inspecting every one of the three dozen steeds in the stable, he picked up a brush from a supply shelf and went over to the stall where his own chestnut gelding from Vinay del Zexay was kept.

"I think I'm going to stay here for a while and groom my Felix down. You can go back."

"Why bother? Let the stable boy do it."

"I'm not doubting the quality of your stable boys, Redrum, but I'm sure I can do a better job. Felix would feel more comfortable if I groomed him myself, anyway."

"Suit yourself. I'm probably going to bed, so I'll see you tomorrow." Borus said as he started to walk out of the stable.

"Good night," Percival called out as Borus closed the stable doors to keep the chilly autumn night air out.

Percival took an hour or so to carefully brush down his chestnut. The gelding lied down in the hay bed to go to sleep afterwards. Having no desire to walk all the way back to his room in the manor, Percival curled up beside the chestnut, resting his head on its side. As a child, he had probably spent more nights in the stable beside his horses than in his own bed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the rhythmic movement of the chestnut's warm body as it breathed.


End file.
